jay Arr

You Are What You Eat
brackets And Drink Close Brackets - Poem by jay Arr

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Her hair was cream cooling in the pantryAnd her eyes were hot buttered sconesAnd her look was a pancake’s flip, one side doneAnd her teeth were fat oysters from Bantry bay Her nose was that liqueur you can never remember the name of And her back, her back, was Sunday apple pieAnd her shoulders were risotto - sometimes rissolesHer freckles were grated nutmeg Her scent was crushed blackberriesAnd her last smile was fresh baked breadAnd her song was sweet and sour And her tongue was Mississippi mud pie And her laugh was milk and honeyAnd her arguments were those strange dips from M&SHer neck was lemon sorbetAnd her Adam’s was an appleHer breasts were double baked AlaskaHer belly was gooseberry foolAnd her arms were custard with the skin onHer elbows bananas, or cucumbers when angryAnd her wrists were medium sometimes overdoneHer handshakes were milkshakes, raspberry flavouredAnd her fingers were new potatoes in their skins And the palms of her hands were crème brulee You have to crack with a spoonAnd her shadow was spiced wine mulled And her heart was a mince pieAnd her belly button was a date, without the stone And her private parts were figs, and figs, and figsHer stretch marks were surprisingly, stretch marks.And her arse was bread and butter puddingHer legs were asparagus tips Her calves were liver and onions Her knees bubble and squeakAnd her feet were kippers, lightly curedAnd her footprints were soda bread.Her final promises were four-minute eggs with the tops hammered in. Her one-liners the best malts, bought by friends.And the last time they talked She was his breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea and midnight feastBy candle light, the crumbs in his unmade bed, They told him. And he knowing, you are what you eat, Brackets, and drink, close brackets, having eatenWas silent. Was her.